


from this day forward

by andawaywego



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Mentions of Past Captain Swan, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, mentions of past outlaw queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9647084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andawaywego/pseuds/andawaywego
Summary: 'Except Emma’s definitely not drunk and she’s certain that Regina is faking because she certainly seems sober enough when she says, “We should get married.”'SQ. Future Fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on a roll. got about five more of these that are like 3/4ths finished.
> 
> coming to a computer, tablet, or phone screen near you.
> 
> this is post season six in my head, but i don't mention the Gideon thing at all, so yeah.
> 
> read on.

…

_from this day forward_

_.._

Later, they’ll say they were drunk when they came up with the idea.

Except Emma’s definitely not drunk—she’s only had two beers—and she’s certain that Regina can't be more than buzzed because she certainly seems sober enough when she says, “We should get married.”

It’s funny, too, that it’s Regina saying it because it just sounds plain wrong coming out of her mouth.

They’re in the living room, backs against the base of the couch, and the TV is playing some weird Renee Zellweger movie that neither of them is really watching. Neither of them really knows why they started drinking in the first place, but Emma thinks it has to do with seeing Hook earlier to get the rest of her things out of that house, the boxes and suitcases she knows are sitting by the couch in her parents’ loft, or maybe the fact that _Robin_  had come up in the conversation.

They’ve been doing this a lot lately because they’re friends now. It’s hard to remember what it was like before.

Under normal circumstances the night always goes the same—a couple of drinks, a bad joke or two, one of them accidentally revealing too much about something emotional and then Emma ducks out for the night and walks back to her house, or, well the loft now.

But tonight, apparently, the mood is just right for possibly the lamest proposal ever.

“For Henry,” Regina clarifies. pretending to be interested in the TV. She must sense Emma’s confusion because she continues, clearing her throat before saying, “I’ve been thinking…That is, worrying that—” She clears her throat again and Emma is just buzzed enough to nearly get to her feet, to go and get her some water, but she wants to hear the explanation first. “What if he gets hurt? And you get to the hospital before me? Or I’m not there? You won’t be able to make decisions for him and he’s your…He’s your son, too.”

It’s a lot and the memory of Henry lying in a hospital bed makes the room tilt to the side. “Yeah, but Dr. Whale and everybody know that I’m his mom, too.”

Regina nods and wraps her fingers around the stem of the wine bottle up on the coffee table, pouring some more into her already full glass. “But when he goes away to school? Or if he gets hurt outside of Storybrooke?”

Emma slumps back next to Regina, pushes her leg up against the other woman’s legs.

“Getting married to you will fix that?”

“You can legally adopt him if we’re married. We can revisit your parental rights. He’ll be yours, too.”

And Henry already is, but Emma’s stomach does this thing when she realizes that he would be in the eyes of law then, too. “Oh. And I can’t adopt him without that?”

“That” means a marriage to Regina, who is shaking her head in great big swoops of the neck, over-exaggerated from the wine.

Regina has been researching this a lot, apparently. Emma imagines her sitting behind her desk in City Hall and calling lawyers, asking questions about this sort of thing, figuring it out. They’ve certainly come a long way since that poisoned apple turnover.

“You wanna marry me?”

That’s what it takes for Regina to look at her. She shrugs. “I mean…I’m not getting younger anytime soon and we’re already a family. I care for you and—”

“Be still my heart,” Emma jokes and Regina pushes her a little bit.

“ _And_ ,” Regina continues. “I hate to admit it would make sense.”

“Make sense?”

“For Henry,” Regina clarifies, but it doesn’t seem convincing.

Emma leans her head against Regina’s shoulder, tucks her forehead into the dip of the other woman’s shoulder and says, “Okay.”

“Are you agreeing?”

It really is the lamest proposal ever.

Renee Zellweger has gotten herself into another pickle on the screen and she’s yelling at someone on the phone. Emma watches it for a moment and the there’s only one lamp on in the living room, making everything seem soft and warm. She wiggles her toes against the soft rug they’re sitting on.

“Yeah,” she says simply. “I’m agreeing. Let’s get married.”

.

Somehow, it gets ignored for something like two weeks. At breakfast in the morning, the weekly Henry pass-off, and the occasional budget meeting, neither of them utters a peep.

It’s like some sort of game to see how long the other will stay silent, like they’re sizing each other up.

It feels ridiculously juvenile, very junior high and not the type of thing Emma ever expected to be doing with her possibly-maybe fiancée.

“Are you and mom fighting?” Henry asks when he’s at the loft one evening, pouring her a bowl of popcorn from the bag.

Emma turns on the movie subtitles—just to annoy him really—and says, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure about that?”

No, actually. She’s really _not_ sure about that.

But Henry can’t know that.

She says, “I think I would know if we were fighting, kid. She’s just been busy.”

Not too busy to drop off lunch for Emma twice in the past week, but she doesn’t say that either.

Henry looks at her when she flops back down on the couch, like he doesn’t necessarily believe her. But, “Okay.”

And he lets it go.

It’s when Captain America is getting punched in the face by Tony Stark that she thinks of him four years ago, looking so small on that hospital bed and how she had thought that it was the last day on earth--it felt that way, anyway, because they weren’t sure if he was even going to wake up.

If that happened now, she’s not sure what she would do. And it’s that thought alone that settles her mind.

Well, that and the memory of Regina’s perfume lingering on her skin for days after that conversation on her living room floor.

.

Regina is sitting in the study when Emma slips into the mansion with the spare key she’d been given two Christmases prior. Henry is probably asleep by now back at the loft and her parents and brother hadn’t so much as fluttered an eyelash when she’d opened the front door to leave.

All of these, she thinks, are signs that this is what she’s supposed to do.

At the door, Emma tugs off her boots and sets them in the empty spot beside a pair of Henry’s dirty sneakers. Her jacket gets hung up by Regina’s on the coat rack and she runs a hand through her hair nervously, curls her toes in her socks.

Thinks about what Regina said.

 _We should get married_.

Regina doesn’t lift her head up from her laptop and she has her reading glasses on. Emma had made a joke about them when she first saw them, saying something about her getting old and Regina had laughed and hadn't looked the slightest bit angry.

“A little late for a house call, don’t you think?”

“Probably,” Emma confirms. “Did I scare you?”

“Hardly,” Regina scoffs.

Despite the banter, it feels good, the two of them there. Together. Comfortable and familiar.

“I think I scare you more than you let on.”

It’s a joke, but Regina looks up at her then, lenses flashing the light of the computer screen back at Emma. She looks serious and thoughtful, the way Regina always does before she’s either about to say something wise or particularly sassy.

“I think you overestimate yourself, Miss Swan.”

So, they’re back to that, huh?

Emma shuffles forward, slides across the hardwood floor in her socks a couple inches and then—there’s no point in being subtle really—says, “Did you mean what you said? About us getting married?”

Regina looks caught off guard in a way that Emma is certain she only ever is in front of her. It’s clear that she’s been thinking about it too--how they hadn’t really been drunk, and how the moment had felt so blindingly obvious even sitting on the floor in the living room after talking about their ex-boyfriends, of all things.

If she thinks about it, the two of them getting married is kind of beautiful symmetry—like a movie about star-crossed lovers or something. That ocean she read about once in a Nat Geo magazine, so clear it’s almost like you can touch the bottom.

For a moment—just a moment—Regina hesitates.

And then she nods.

“Oh,” Emma says finally, and then, “Me too.”

.

It’s ridiculous, of course.

Completely crazy.

Some super-plus 100x crazier than anything she’s ever done before plus another hundred thousand or so.

But, the thing is, it makes sense. Sure, Regina threatened to destroy her parents’ happiness and their lives on more than one occasion, and she totally tried to put her into an eternal sleep, and, okay yeah, they’ve fist-fought a couple of times. Plus there’s that whole thing with the Underworld and Emma is completely certain she was responsible for Robin’s death.

But they got through it. They moved on. They forgave each other and became friends and, after all of that? If Emma is still standing here and Regina is still supporting her, wouldn’t you say that that counts as 'for better or for worse'?

It sort of makes her not worry about anything else.

Emma thinks about this, sprawled on her bed when she gets back that night--thinks about Regina sleeping all the way across town. She thinks about Regina's bed, Regina  _in_ it and wonders if Regina thinks about  _that_ aspect of marriage, too. The idea makes her fingers tremble and she tugs her blankets up to her chin as if that will help.

When she was younger, she'd always thought of marriage as this sexless commitment because she hadn't known or really  _thought_ about sex until she was probably fifteen or so. But she's in her thirties now. She knows it's not.

Usually.

Especially not for her parents, who like to forget that their daughter sleeps in the bedroom literally right above them. And said bedroom only has three walls.

If she'd married Hook, that part of things would probably still rear its head after the vows were said, even though that aspect of their relationship hadn't really bled into the later months anyway. Not that she'd particularly minded.

But Regina isn't Hook, thank God. Why should  _that part_ be like it would be with Hook? Even if she's thought of Regina before--a while ago, before New York maybe and for a bit after. 

Regina isn't Hook.

She won't want that anyway. She just doesn't want to be alone.

Besides, if Emma had to pick between support and intimacy, she'd probably pick support any day of the week. Especially since Regina has always been there for her in a way that no one else has. Hook had been dismal at backing her up, had said she wasn't the woman he fell in love with and then called her a lot of things that made her chuck a toaster at his head.

Or, well... _near his head._

She can’t imagine chucking _anything_ at Regina’s head, but she can’t imagine Regina calling her love phony, either, so—

All in all, it doesn’t sound too bad.

.

“You,” Snow says, like she’s torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to scream bloody murder. “You’re marrying Regina?”

“What? Like sexuality isn’t fluid?” Emma says and stabs her pancakes viciously with her fork. “Is that what’s so ridiculous?”

“It’s just a shock, honey, that’s all.” Snow is backpedaling now. That much is obvious. She’s trying her best to look supportive, even as she takes a judgmental sip of her tea. “Where did this come from?”

When Emma had prepared for this conversation in the mirror before walking downstairs to face the music, she hadn’t expected her mother to ask that, nor had she prepared for her dad being stunned into silence beside her.

Snow waves a hand in front of David’s face and he jumps as if he’s been shocked, and looks over at Emma. “Uh,” he starts, then, “Okay.”

No questions. That’s how surprised he is.

But then he gets to his feet looking a little angry and Snow grabs his arm.

“Where are you going?” she asks, fingers tight around his elbow.

“I’d like to ask the mayor how long she’s been sleeping with our daughter,” he tells her and almost shakes her off until Emma gets up to intercept him.

“Stop, Dad. Sit down please.” She grips his upper arms firmly and directs him back to his seat.He sinks down into it heavily, looking like he’d like nothing more than to fight her, but doesn’t.

Maybe it’s understandable, but she sort of hates that her parents’ minds immediately go to _that._ Sure, her and Regina are adults and maybe if they’re getting married that _usually_ means they’ve slept with each other, but Emma's only  _briefly_ thought about it once.

Or, maybe a couple of times. But not more than that.

Actually, more than a couple. But not constantly!

“It’s just a little hard for us to grasp, sweetie,” Snow tells her. “Surely you can understand why.”

They don’t say that they didn’t used to trust Regina—once had her on a schedule to be executed—but now they’ve accepted her. She’s not certain they’ve ever really voiced those feelings aloud more than once and now their daughter—the one they’d been separated from at birth _because_ of Regina—is marrying her.

She decides to cut them some slack.

“Well, I need you to get on board with this because it’s happening.”

Not a lot of slack.

“ _Why_ is it happening?” David asks and she sighs, explains it to them.

Emma tells them about Henry and how she’s been having nightmares of him in that damn hospital bed, heart rate monitor flat lining, and she thinks they understand then. Snow grabs her hand and David looks properly chastised.

“It’s your life, Em,” he says. “But this is a really big change. For everyone, Henry included. I think the two of you should really consider it before you make any hasty decisions. Marriage is a huge step.”

He’s right, of course. Before she’d been reunited with them, her only experience with marriage involved screaming foster parents and couples united against her.

“You and Mom are happy,” she points out, pushing her half-empty plate forward on the counter, appetite suddenly gone.

“That’s different,” he corrects gently.

Except—

“I love Regina,” Emma says and means it. “She’s Henry’s mom. She’s my best friend. She’s saved all of us too many times to count.” Her parents look away from her, either unwilling or unable to meet her eyes. “I can’t imagine my life without her in it.”

Snow gets up and takes Emma’s plate with her, scrapes it off in the trash and then runs it under the hot water. “Well,” she says after a long moment of silence. “Maybe you’re right. That sounds like enough to me.”

It sounds like enough to Emma, too.

.

Regina picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“So,” Emma says, all pretenses dropped, “What kind of ring are you buying me?”

.

“Wait a second,” Henry says when they tell him, “you guys are getting married?”

They’d had a plan. A plan that involved a nice family dinner and telling him across the table at Granny’s, but Emma had cracked under pressure the moment he’d come into Regina’s office after school.

He’d been standing there say, _Hey, guys, ready to go?_ and she’d just blurted out, _We’re engaged!_ and Regina had hissed out this long, ridiculous sigh and rubbed her fingertips into her temples as if Emma is the most impossible to handle person in the entire known universe.

And now Henry is staring at them with his mouth hanging open.

“I thought we agreed on the best way to tell him, Emma,” Regina says, looking over at the other woman with one eyebrow raised. “I don’t recall _this_ being it.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t do well under pressure,” Emma whispers back, but Henry can probably hear her.

“That much has just been made abundantly clear, I’m afraid.”

“Does anyone want to explain this to me?” Henry asks. He looks frustrated now and more than a little confused, shoves his hands in his pockets.

There’s nothing much to explain past the legal part, but that doesn’t seem to convince Henry the way it had her parents.

“But…” he starts, then coughs into his fist. “Does that mean you’re…” He trails off and looks down at his sneakers, cheeks flushed red.

There’s a thump of giddy nervousness in Emma’s chest and she says, “Wow, kid. We’re _so_ not gonna talk about that.”

“I should think not!” Regina adds in primly.

“Is Emma moving in with us?” is Henry’s next question.

Actually, they hadn’t discussed that. Emma looks over at Regina for help.

“Well, yes, Henry. If you’re okay with that,” and _okay._ That’s that then.

Emma can’t help but feel a little excited at the prospect. She hadn’t thought much about the details of this, but it only makes sense for her to be moving in with her future _wife_ and her son.

“So, you’re really getting married?” This is said on the way to Granny’s, Henry walking beside them on the sidewalk.

Emma nods. Regina reaches out and takes her hand and her fingers are soft and warm wrapped around Emma’s own and it’s a lot like that time at the town line when they’d done this but also nothing like it at all.

“Yes,” Regina says, and the idea of it feels huge, like it’s filling up the air between them. “We are.”

“Okay,” Henry says. They’re nearing the diner now and he grins. “Cool.”

Emma holds the door open and lets them go in first, letting go of Regina’s hand to do it and she’s cold suddenly, fingers chilled even though it’s March.

.

The rest of the town finds out pretty quickly.

But not the full story, the reasoning behind it.

Just the blurry watercolor portrait of the whole thing.

Leroy straight up hugs Emma on her way to the station one day, whispering a warm, “Congrats,” into her ear that makes her uncomfortable. Granny gives her an extra bear claw when she picks up coffee for Regina one morning and winks at her.

Other than that and the several fruit baskets and calls the police station get asking where she’s registered, nothing really changes.

Emma starts packing up her things to move into the mansion and her parents learn to live with it.

“We’re happy for you, honey, really,” Snow says one night when she slips in from having dinner with Henry and Regina.

She must mean it, too. Regina texts her the next day that Snow tried to give her a book called _Things I Wish We’d Known Before We Got Married._

 **The fireplace is calling to it,** the message says and Emma laughs so loudly that her mom says, “Emma, everything okay?” from downstairs.

.

Snow quickly becomes obsessed with what to get them as a wedding gift.

“What about a toaster?” she asks one morning, waking Emma up to say it and peering over her in, face a little too close.

Emma lies there and frowns. “Regina has a toaster already.”

Snow frowns, peering down at her daughter. “A blender?”

“She’s got that, too.”

Snow looks perplexed, wracking her brain. For how adamantly confused she’d been before, the weeks since finding out has led to an overly supportive mother.

“I just want to get you something you need,” she whines.

Emma sighs and sits up. “Have you seen her kitchen? I think she’s good.”

That makes Snow nod and looks a little confused still, stroking her chin like a Bond villain. “Well, what do you think?”

But, “I have no clue.” Emma straightens up her bed and starts rifling through her wardrobe for clothes, rubbing the remains of interrupted sleep from her eyes.

“Well, you must have some idea,” Snow prods. “I mean, the only thing I know for certain that she likes are you and Henry, and she’s got those already.”

She must think she’s clever. She’s grinning like she is.

“Whatever you get her will be fine,” Emma sighs. “Just steer clear of kitchen appliances.”

.

“So, how is she in bed?” Ruby asks one morning, whispering so Dorothy, who’s eating at the counter just a seat down from Emma, won’t hear.

Emma splutters out a, “What?” between a hot chocolate spit-take and coughing her lungs out from the whipped cream going down the wrong pipe.

Ruby grins and, honestly, Emma can practically see the wolf teeth—preparing to chomp down on her poor, fragile self-conscious soul. “I’ve always wondered. For a while I thought she might be super vanilla—I mean, Graham and Robin Hood? Come on. But now she’s getting married to _you_ and you dated a guy with a hook for a really long time. You guys must be into some weird shit.”

From down the counter, Emma hears Dorothy scold her girlfriend and is thankful for it, except Ruby doesn’t typically take orders very well.

“Come on, Em,” Ruby whines. “Just one little detail. That’s all I’m asking for. Do you make her wear an extra hook of the captain’s? Does she come to bed with a limp?”

She’s obviously teasing her now, but Emma is bright red and speechless anyway.

It’s probably the first time she’s ever left Granny’s without eating her entire meal.

.

“Do ‘oo unna mack ow?” Emma blurts out one day and she’s helpless to stop herself, doesn’t even really _hear_ the words until they’re coming out of her mouth.

_Holy God, that’s embarrassing._

Regina is sipping her root beer behind her desk and leafing through a stack of wedding magazines Belle dropped off at her office earlier, discarding most of them in the wastebasket on the floor. She looks up as Emma speaks, poking her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose with a sharp jab.

“Would I like to _what_?” she ask, as if Emma hadn’t practically screamed it mid-chew.

Emma is still chewing now, swallowing thickly and staring at Regina, thoroughly humiliated. She’s been staring at Regina for the past ten minutes, just quietly watching her scanning the pages, the way she forks her salad into a pile in the middle of the container before gathering it into a bite and how the sunlight streams in the window behind her and shines through her hair. The curve of her jaw and the way she bites her lip.

“Um,” Emma says. “Never mind.”

Almost like she forgets who it is she’s talking to. Regina isn’t great at letting things like that go.

“Are you propositioning me?” she asks.

Emma shrugs and pushes the second half of her grilled cheese around in the take-out box. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Regina says and she turns back to the magazine, like she’s apt to let it go, but then the pressure gets the best of Emma.

“I mean…we’re getting married soon, so maybe we should—” She turns impossibly redder and turns away, glancing across the room as if something fascinating has appeared there.

“Emma, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but this is our relationship. No one else’s. We don’t have to sleep together if we don’t want to.”

And Emma knows that. “I know.”

Regina stares at her, looking all judge-y and then says, “Why then, I ask, are you so hung up on it?”

“I’m not!” Emma exclaims, sounding _thoroughly_ hung up on it. “I just…Do you not want to? I mean…we’re gonna be married for…”

Well, the idea is _forever_ , right?

“I don’t want to do anything you don’t, Emma,” Regina says mildly.

It’s silent, then, “But you do, don’t you? You want to.”

The wording has given her away.

Regina sighs and sets down her fork before she pushes her chair back and stands up, crossing the desk to where Emma is sitting. She pulls the take-out box off of Emma’s lap and tilts the younger woman’s chin up to face her before leaning down.

Emma realizes that she’s holding her breath.

“Of course I do,” Regina says softly.

Emma’s fingertips are tingling, eyes closing in anticipation and she has time to realize that it’s real just before Regina kisses her, presses her lips to Emma’s.

The last person Emma kissed like this was Hook and that was too long ago to really remember much about it, but she knows it was nothing like this.

For one, Regina is wearing lipstick and Emma doesn’t think she’s ever really considered what it must feel like to kiss someone with lipstick on. It's dry and flat and tastes a little metallic when she opens her mouth for the first time.

The kiss is slow, gentle. Regina’s right hand stays cupped around Emma’s jaw and Emma’s own hands hover in the air near Regina’s waist, unsure if she's allowed to touch her. She just lets Regina kiss her and kisses her back.

She’s not sure how long it goes on for, but when Regina pulls away her pupils are dilated and her breathing has changed. Emma just watches her, mouth slightly agape.

“Cool,” she whispers, and there’s nothing else for her to say. Anything else—even that—falls flat of describing the fluttering in her chest.

Regina just laughs and wipes some smeared lipstick from Emma’s upper lip. “Quite,” she says.

.

“I’ve been doing some research,” Snow says when Emma is packing up the last of her things a couple days later. “And I saw that… _lesbians_ sometimes like to use other things to…f-for pleasure and…”

Emma is horrified.

There are things no one should ever hear their mother say and then there are things no one should ever hear Snow White say, and somehow this conversation fits _both_.

“No, Mom,” she says flatly, gripping the cardboard box too tightly. “Nope. Don't even-We're not gonna-Just...No.”

Snow is, if possible, even redder than Emma is. She nods and says, “Right.”

“Absolutely not,” Emma says and then pushes her way out of the room.

.

She moves into the mansion the next day, drops all of her boxes off in the guest room while Regina is at work and Henry is at school.

It feels a little surreal. The guest room is bigger than the entire common space of the loft and bare. There's only one painting hanging over the bed and Emma is struck, suddenly, with the realization that she has to fill those walls with pictures and she only owns three picture frames and no nails. Maybe Regina has a hammer she could borrow.

Snow was the interior decorator for the loft and each wall was tastefully decorated to her liking, and Emma has spent so much time hopping from house to house that she never considered that one day she might end up...Well, staying somewhere permanently.

She has her own walls to decorate now.

It bothers her throughout her entire shift and she comes home with a purpose, striding up the stairs to figure out how to decorate the walls best, but then--

Her boxes aren't in the guest room anymore.

She wonders, briefly, if Regina came home and changed her mind about her moving in after all--if she'd much rather carry out this whole marriage thing across the town. Emma can't say she'd blame the woman for it. She's sort of a slob, after all, and who would want to put up with that other than her mother?

Her things, it turns out, are in Regina's room.

With Regina, who is unpacking them.

“I…apologize if it was a bit presumptuous,” Regina says when Emma finds her hanging up one of her leather jackets in her bedroom closet. “I just assumed—”

But Regina’s room feels so much warmer and Emma’s chest ignites with a fluttering feeling she’s never felt before when she sees the book she’s been reading for the past month on the empty table on the far side of the bed, that picture of her and her mother placed by the lamp. Like the guest room, there's only one painting on the wall and it's right above the vanity, but every other wall is filled with pictures of varying sizes, all of them holding a shot of a grinning Henry. Emma is surprised and pleased to see that she's in at least 75% of them, too.

“No,” she says, grinning so wide it’s embarrassing. “No, it’s fine.”

And Regina zips up one of her jackets affectionately on the hanger and says, “Good.”

.

One day, a week or so later, Ruby comes by the station with food and sticks a black sack over Emma’s head when she’s distracted by her French fries.

“Wow! What the hell?” Emma demands, trying to tug the sack off her head, but sweet damn is Ruby strong.

She could probably magic it off, but for some reason, she constantly forgets in times of stress that she actually has magic.

“Sorry, Em. Stop wiggling and let me walk you outside,” Ruby says. “I promise not to bump you into any walls.

It’s hard to breathe with a sack over your head, but Emma trusts Ruby even when she can’t see her, so she says, “Fine,” and then, “Bring my fries.”

Ruby only bumps her into a wall—probably on purpose, based on the way she cackles—once.

She’s pushed into a car and feels someone’s leg bump hers when she slides into the seat. “Can I take this damn thing off now?”

The door slams behind her and then she hears Ruby get into the passenger seat just ahead. “What? No. That completely ruins the effect.”

“Miss Lucas, I hardly think, as mine are not, that Emma’s hands are bound, not to mention that you’ve completely forgotten that I could simply remove this hood with a flick of my fingers as easily as I could _also_ remove your—“

Yeah, that’s definitely Regina.

Emma smirks a little under her hood.

“Wow, calm down, your highness,” Ruby cuts in. “It’s just for funsies, okay? Yikes.”

“Emma, I would never let _anyone_ hurt you.”

And _that_ is definitely Snow, leaning forward from the driver’s seat of whatever car they’re in to say this into Emma’s ear.

“Thanks, Mom,” Emma mutters, a little self-conscious.

She feels a warm, familiar hand reach out and squeeze her thigh and she grabs it and squeeze it in return.

“We’re not hurting anyone,” someone else cuts in.

Emma’s only spoken to her once, but she thinks it might be Dorothy, speaking from behind them.

“Definitely not,” says Belle, who must be behind them as well.

“Okay, now that we’ve established that the brides-to-be aren’t about to be beaten up and dumped in a ditch—”

“ _Miss Lucas_ ,” Regina scolds, huffing a little.

“— _kidding!_ We can get going. Buckle in, ladies. It’s gonna be a crazy day!”

The car starts moving and Emma thinks someone in the back—either Belle or Dorothy—must reach out to help her buckle when her hand can’t find the strap and the other refuses to let go of Regina.

.

Ruby’s idea of “crazy” turns out to be mini golf 30 minutes outside the town line.

At a place called Pirate’s Cove.

“Don’t you love it, Emma?” Ruby asks and winks, faking a limp as she walks over to pick out a putter.

Regina flips her off before Emma gets the chance.

It’s sort of sweet that Ruby and the others went to all this effort to give them some semblance of a bachelorette party, and Emma is happy that they hadn’t split her and Regina up to do it. She’s not sure she would be this amenable if Regina weren’t there with her.

Snow gives them _Bride-to-Be_ sashes and pouts at Regina until she puts hers on.

It’s 36-holes in the warm April sun and Emma is absolutely terrible, but Regina laughs the entire time and buys her an ice cream cone afterwards for “being such a good sport", and it's not the actual worst.

.

Until they get to the strip club.

“Surprise, skanks!” Ruby yells when they pull up.

“No, no, absolutely not,” Emma says, but even her mom looks like she’s going in and if _that_ isn’t embarrassing, she doesn’t know what is.

Belle actually looks interested too, though she has a feeling that Dorothy doesn’t even know what it is based on the way she’s frowning at the neon sign of a busty woman.

Regina looks pissed, but that’s really nothing new. Emma has to admit that she looks very pretty even in the flashing pink and green of the sign.

“We might as well,” Regina says. “You know she won’t give up if we don’t.”

Emma sighs. “Fine,” but at least Regina holds out a hand to her.

The strip club has a huge breakfast bar, which is pretty high on the ick-factor, but Snow says, “Ooh,” the moment she sees it and disappears with Belle to get some waffles.

“Ruby, I swear on everything that is holy, that I will _murder_ you if you try to buy me or Regina a lap dance,” Emma says when they sit down at a table.

Like most strip clubs Emma has been to, it’s nothing very impressive. Just a darkly lit room with a couple of round stages spread out, a bar towards the side, and a bunch of scantily clad ladies walking around to talk to a lot of middle-aged, balding men.

Ruby pouts for a second, but then Dorothy leans over and starts asking where the women’s clothes have gone, so she gets a little preoccupied.

“If you’d like,” Regina says lowly, and there’s this shine in her eyes that makes Emma feel torn between being aroused and being terrified, “I can dance for you when we’re alone. Free of charge.”

More than likely, she’s joking, but Emma gulps anyway, her mind a sudden tornado with images of what that would look like.

She stutters out some version of, “Okay,” and then Snow and Belle come back with extra bacon for everyone.

“These are really good,” Snow says, drowning her waffles in syrup and whipped cream. She makes Emma eat half of one because she “worries about her eating habits” now that she's moved out.

Regina rolls her eyes when she says that and then Belle starts giving Emma tips on being married to a former villain and that goes on for probably 20 minutes until Regina gets fed up and heads to the bar to get something to drink.

It’s when she comes back with long island iced tea for Emma, that Emma realizes that they’re actually getting married. That she’ll have to hyphenate her last name, and holy crap she moved out of her parents house and they’ve shared a bed for a whole week now.

For a moment, she expects to feel some sort of fear, some whiplash from how quickly this has moved, but, it’s funny, she’s not scared at all.

Ruby ruins the moment when _Whatever You Like_ comes on and she screams Emma’s name all the way from the bar and starts grinding on an amused Dorothy.

Regina rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, and it’s simultaneously terrible and perfect.

.

They don’t get home until around one in the morning, Snow dropping them off at the mansion just as David is coming out with a half-asleep Neal in his arms after watching Henry for the night. He kisses his daughter on the forehead and gives Regina a somewhat stiff, somewhat friendly nod before getting into the car with his wife.

Snow waves out the window on her way down the street and the moment she’s gone, Emma can’t keep her eyes off Regina’s hands, her neck, her lips. She wants to blame the alcohol, but she knows, realistically, that this isn’t new. This has maybe, probably been there since the first time she was ever invited into this house, dazed in the aftereffect of her son finding her and Regina's bright smile, fake as it may have been.

Her mind is buzzing with an onslaught of memories—Regina’s skin against hers, the warmth of her fingertips, the way she’d said _free of charge_.

At the door, she presses into Regina’s side and starts trailing fingers up and down her bare arm, scraping her nails through dark brown hair, until Regina says, “Emma,” with a sigh like she’s struggling and her hands shake trying to get the door unlocked. She’s not sure how long it takes them to get in the doors, because she’s already kissing Regina and something in Emma’s chest clicks into place.

She’s not sure what it means or how to deal with it, but she’s a little busy stepping into Regina’s space, pressing her into the back of the door and gripping her hips to bring her closer.

She feels Regina’s hands tangled in her hair, fingernails scraping against the back of her neck, and she’s breathing heavily into Emma’s mouth, groaning.

“Oh, gross! Ew, ew, ew, ew!”

That’s what tears them apart. Reluctantly, but still.

Henry is standing on the stairs in his pajamas, covering his eyes as he tries to back away.

“I’m gonna go pretend this never happened! I was never here!” And then he slips upstairs.

It isn’t until they hear his door close that Emma laughs, dropping her head down onto Regina’s chest and Regina laughs, too, sounding more than a little embarrassed.

It’s not funny.

But, still.

.

It’s a bit of a mood killer until they make it to the bedroom and then Regina is unbuttoning her shirt, still a little drunk, and trying to change into her pajamas and Emma can’t help herself.

She practically tackles her onto the bed and she was wrong--very wrong--about  _this_ not being an important part of it.

She wakes up warm and happy in the sun-lit room with Regina snoring softly in her arms and it’s her favorite morning since living there by far.

A late breakfast with Henry and Regina smiling at her over waffles just makes it even better.

 _We can do this_ , she thinks, laughing at something Henry says (he’s moved on from the previous night, likely too humiliated to bring it up _ever_ ) and Regina runs her fingers over Emma’s shoulder blades when she passes by.

It’s the most perfect thing that Emma never expected to have.

.

At lunch one day, Emma is eating her food and ends up asking in the middle of the bite, “’ow shoe we kees?” and Regina doesn't even look at her.

“Why do all of these conversations occur when you are in the middle of eating?”

She’s got a point, except they’re sitting on the couch on the side of her office instead of at the desk, and she has her legs draped over Emma’s lap, head tilted back against the armrest and eyes closed.

Emma swallows and says, “For the wedding, I mean.” One of Regina’s eyes opens and she looks at Emma for a moment before closing it again. “I mean,” Emma continues, “we’re getting married.”

“I’m aware of that.” There isn’t a hint of malice in her voice, just hushed awe that mimics Emma’s own.

_They’re getting married._

“I’m just wondering what’s appropriate or not,” Emma rationalizes.

Regina laughs at her and opens both eyes this time, sitting up and curling her legs in so that she’s pressed right into Emma, reaching out to brush some of Emma’s hair behind her ear. “I’m sure that how we normally kiss will be fine.”

Except Emma isn’t certain that it _won’t_ be fine.

Her mind is alight with memories of the night before—pressing Regina into the bed, running fingers down her skin, and Regina sighing, “ _Emma,”_ into her mouth.

She feels the tips of her ears heat up. “I might try to French you, though. In front of _my mom_.”

It’s possible that her wording would have normally made Regina laugh, but this time it doesn’t. Regina looks at her as if she’s sobering up about the whole thing, and then says, “Okay,” and pulls away to stand.

Emma lifts herself to her feet and they’re just standing there in the middle of Regina’s office staring at each other. Regina comes a little closer, hands reaching out to pull Emma closer and she says, “Kiss me like this,” and kisses Emma too softly.

Of course, Emma’s first instinct is to tug her closer, but Regina pulls back before she can, placating her with another simple kiss on Emma’s bottom lip.

She’s smiling because Regina is watching her carefully with eyes practically begging to ask _was that okay?_ and, “No,” Emma says.

“No?” Regina asks, starting to step away, but Emma slides her hands down to her hips to get her to stay.

“I think I’m gonna French you in front of my mom.”

And Regina laughs, but Emma isn’t kidding. She’s certain that a kiss like that won’t be enough when the moment comes.

.

The rehearsal dinner is held at the mansion two weeks later, the night before the ceremony. People congratulate them all night and you’d hardly think Regina was the same woman who cursed all of them for twenty-eight years from the number of warm shoulder touches and handshakes she gets.

Henry gives an abridged version of his speech for the reception that makes Emma cry like a baby and bury her face in his shoulder when he’s finished. The majority of his response is to just pat her on the back and say, "Ma, it's okay," really softly while looking to his other mother for help, of which she gives him none.

Snow and David give some sort of joint speech written on bright blue note cards until David goes rogue, throws his cards on the floor, and starts talking about the differences between their real lives and the Disney versions of their stories.

Eventually, Snow shoves him into another room and Emma can hear her say, “It’s not that it wasn’t beautiful, David, it’s that you really shouldn’t remind everyone that Regina was my _stepmother_ when she’s marrying our daughter tomorrow! And we’ve discussed not giving away movie spoilers before!”

It’s a surprise and a relief when Ruby only clinks her champagne flute with her fork, chanting, “Kiss, kiss, kiss,” and making everyone join in just the once. She gets a little to excited and ends up breaking the flute in her hand and Regina gives her such a glare as she waves her hand to fix it that Ruby doesn’t try it again.

Everyone leaves around ten and Snow is already crying—she’s going to be _a mess_ at the ceremony—and when David hugs Regina tightly at the door, she joins in on her husband’s other side. It goes on for so long that Regina mouths _help me_ to Emma and Henry, who pretty much leave her to fend for herself because they can’t stop laughing.

Emma camps out in the living room with Henry, watching infomercials all night, even though there’s a guest room because, if she has to sleep without Regina, she'd rather not be alone.

She’s gotten used to sharing a bed with her now and misses her warmth so much she can hardly sleep.

It’s more than a small relief when Regina sneaks into the living room around three in the morning when Henry is already snoring in a pile of blankets on the floor.

“Can you slide back a bit?” she asks and Emma does, presses herself into the back of the couch so Regina can lie down in her arms.

"Sure," Emma whispers, and she's never been the big spoon before, but, she has to admit, it’s something she could get used to.

.

It’s a warm Saturday morning in May when they finally get married—about two months after that first conversation.

Henry gives Regina away and David walks Emma down the aisle. Ruby cheers too loudly at inappropriate moments and the whole thing is officiated by Archie, who gets a little weepy during the vows.

There’s not a cloud in the sky and they’re holding hands under a white arch decorated with roses and Emma makes a face at Regina that makes her laugh when they're exchanging rings. This may have started out as something to benefit Henry, as something to stave off the loneliness, but she’d nearly cried when she’d first seen Regina waiting for her at the end of the aisle and now, here they are.

When Archie announces the _kiss the bride_ part, Ruby is the first to start screaming and clapping, nudging Dorothy to get her to join in beside her. Even Belle is hooting in the back.

Snow is crying for sure and David is too—it’s possible Henry is wiping his eyes discreetly, but none of that is important right now.

What’s important is that she’s standing in front of all of them, kissing her best friend and starting the rest of her life.

It’s sort of funny, she thinks when she dips Regina back a little and Regina laughs against her lips (she’d warned Regina that kiss wouldn’t be enough) that it’s called a happy ending when this is really the closest thing to a beginning that she’s ever truly known.

..

_fin_

_…_

**Author's Note:**

> lots of references.
> 
> nondescript Renee Zellweger movie; the book 'Things I Wish We'd Known Before We Got Married' by Gary Chapman; "Captain America: Civil War"; the adventure golf place Pirate's Cove in Old Orchard Beach, Maine; and just Disney movies in general, though specifically "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs".
> 
> i did very basic research on adopting the children of a spouse and gaining back parental rights after giving up a child for adoption. obviously i'm not a lawyer (just a lowly fanfic writer with Google) so i can't promise it's all 100% correct.
> 
> thanks for reading!


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